


That Probably Could've Been Handled Smoother

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Belly Rubs, Food Kink, M/M, Over Eating, Stuffing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 06:24:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1142557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karkat is given to John, the heir, and is a bit unprepared for the banquet that takes place on his first night there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Probably Could've Been Handled Smoother

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a rather long time ago between midnight and 3 am with little to no prior thought in a fit of "I NEED STUFFING AND THERE IS NONE ANYWHERE" and only came back to it recently to kind of, clean it up and finish it. I never intended to post it and had written it for my own enjoyment only, but I feel like there is nothing for this kink anywhere and that I may as well add something to it.
> 
> The universe has no actual development to it and although there seems like there might be a story here, there really isn't.

He's apparently the heir to this very fancy human kingdom. He's apparently very important. It is therefore highly important for you to make a good impression. 

You have already failed and there is no going back.

You are supposed to be quiet and pristine and nice. You're a gift, so expensive. You're the only of your kind. You are entirely priceless and they hated to give you up. (Hilarious)

You are sweet as sugar and kind as cherries. You've even got the same nice strawberry filling that humans have. You're absolutely a perfect gift. You'll do nicely to keep up the relations with the humans.

And he's apparently the heir.

He's somewhat heavy and his skin is reddish brown. His teeth stick out of his mouth and he's wearing glasses and for Gods' sake, he's only barely taller than you.

He doesn't even have horns. You know humans aren't supposed to have horns, but he's supposed to be royalty. Shouldn't there be something to indicate his birth right?

There's his clothes, yes. They're blue and finely tailored and completely gaudy with embroidery, lace and buttons. You think that when they made it they must have taken everything in the sewing room together and just thrown it on a blue tailcoat, shoved him in it, and called it a day. 

But he's supposed to be very important and you're supposed to be making a good impression. 

Your first hour here in this extravagantly decorated palace was rather analogous to torture. As soon as you arrived in your normal, apparently ghastly, apparel, they grabbed you in a fit of gasps before the heir could see you. 

"You we fix. We fix," they said. Their accent and grammar were awful. Humans are terrible at pronouncing troll languages. They can't even make half of the proper sounds. 

You can't tell the difference between males and females. Their faces are empty and look identical to anyone else's. They're just odd monsters with brown or pink skin and ugly flat teeth and no horns. 

They took you in the grip of their soft and clawless hands and dragged you up several sets of winding pearly white staircases with incredibly expensive carpeting. 

They rushed you and you had a hard time keeping up. You were panting and sweating by the time they'd finished hauling you to the room of their choosing.

"We fix. Patient."

They petted your hair while you caught your breath. It was kind of uncomfortable. You didn't know them. You didn't like them. They were disgusting creatures and you didn't want them touching you with their awful hands.

You flinched away from their touch in a snap when a finger brushed your horn.

They hesitated after that movement, but then kept petting you anyway.

"Don't fucking touch me, assbag! Shit, christ. I don't even know who you are!" you yelled at them, swatting the clawless hand away.

They glanced at each other for a moment before intensely whispering in that human language that you can barely understand. They glance back at you a few times.

"We fix," on of them finally said.

And very soon you realized that the awkward touching was not that bad. The awkward touching may have in fact been fine.

Because they dragged you to a room that you assumed to be an ablution block, forcefully stripped you of your clothes, and then bathed you, despite your loud and angry protest.

Then they toweled you off and blow dried your hair, styling it the whole time to make it especially fluffy.

Then they shoved you into a suit just as gaudy as the heir's. 

Now you're being led somewhere else.

They sit you down to dinner next to the heir at the head of the table and- in your defense, really, really, in your defense, you haven't eaten much besides poorly prepared sandwiches in the past couple of days and you've grown up scavenging other animals' kills or eating small game and seafood and you've never ever in your entire life seen this much food in one place. 

So they sit you down to dinner and you pile everything within reach on to your plate until you can't fit anymore and start eating right away. 

First mistake, this is apparently very rude and they make you pause and wait for everyone else to get food. They fucking swat your hand away from your own dish. You are left to stare at glistening and perfectly roasted meat and mashed up somethings and some kind of sea creature you think and all of these gorgeous alien-looking delicacies that you could never even begin to name. They make you wait.

You have to stare at that food and then at the surrounding wrinkled and gaudily-dressed humans who smell awful of piss and perfume until you're given the okay to appease your hollow stomach. 

And once you are given that okay, you make a lot of embarrassing decisions that you have zero regrets about.

You don't notice how carefully everyone else is eating. They have conversations that you just know are blue-blood grade snobbish in a language you can't understand and there's a woman at the other end of the table who's laugh is the most obnoxious thing you've ever heard and you don't listen to any of it.

Your only focus, from the moment the very first bite of perfectly cooked alien meat-stuff hits your tongue, is getting a taste of everything on the table. 

Once your plate has been emptied, you unthinkingly reach out for more to fill it back up. There's something just out of your reach that you can't identify at all, but you need to try it. It's little slices of something covered in a white sauce.

You reach across the table and you feel a hand pull you back and sit you back in your chair. You're about to snap at this person when they hand you the dish themselves.

You realize that this person is the heir, and you meet their eyes for the first time. They're blue as a highblood's and that must be the indicator of his status, you think. 

You freeze when you see them, with their deep royal blue, and you swallow the food still in your mouth and sit back in your chair. 

There's so much amusement in them, but their color is something you've never witnessed in real life before. It calls such authority from within you that your heart flutters with an ounce of fear.

But he smiles and dumps some of the food on your plate for you.

"Zzenk, yuerrl," you say awkwardly. You are terrible at human language.

"Etsno trubble," he says.

You're not sure what that means. The normal response that they taught you to "thank you" was "you're welcome". 

He puts the dish back down on the table. You go back to eating.

You find that, as you are nearly finished with all of your second plate, the heir has been glancing at you repeatedly. He still looks amused. Or you think it's amusement. Perhaps humans have different facial expressions and that is in fact one of displeasure.

This makes you stop eating long enough to realize that you are actually feeling kind of full. This is upsetting, as the food is just so good. You just want to keep eating it. You therefore choose to ignore the feeling, as well as the subtle tightness of your belt. 

You finish the last of what you have in front of you, and just as you're about to start grabbing more, a gloved hand sweeps under your plate and takes it away. 

The mostly-emptied plates on the table as well are taken away. You slump a bit in your chair.

However, everything is soon replaced with beautifully decorated and brightly colored cakes and sweets of all kinds. As soon as that's all set up, you start your task of tasting everything you can once again.

All different shaped cakes topped with different jellies and frosting are piled onto your plate, along with icecream and chocolates and so many things that you can't name. You try to slow down, just to taste each thing. It's just that as soon as it's in your mouth, delicious perfectly baked cake or otherwise, you see something that you've just got to try. 

You ignore the increasingly loud feelings of fullness in your stomach fairly successfully. 

You make a habit of licking the frosting off of the cakes before eating them and it earns you a lot of revolted looks. You're just sort of receiving a lot of those, actually. 

The rest of the table's eating slows down and they ignore you. There's some chatter that you hear and you're sure some of it, directed at the heir, is about you, but you aren't very concerned. 

Most everyone is just talking after a while, all of these poor beautiful cakes forgotten and wasting.

You're about to pop another into your mouth when you feel a hand on your shoulder. Of course its the heir.

You swallow, and you're realizing how upset your stomach is becoming about that every time you do that.

"Sodowwn," he says. He still seems amused. "Thaerwooluhlwaysbeefoodforyeutoeat."

You need to learn better human speak. You wish they'd taught you some before you came here.

He takes a napkin to your face and you don't know if you should be uncomfortable or take it as a kind gesture or what. 

As soon as he's done, he turns away to talk to someone else.

You feel somewhat uncomfortable and you bring your hand down to try to rub some calmness into your aching stomach and you realize just what you've done to yourself. 

Your abdomen is rather swollen and pushing against your gaudy clothes, putting unfortunate strain on the buttons.

You undo your belt buckle and the button on your coat, despite how rude you're assuming that must be and you feel a little better. The next thing you know, the loud chatter of the rest of the table has quieted and the heir is standing. 

He speaks and you make no effort to tell what he's saying. You don't really even pay attention. You just keep eating the sweets remaining on your plate, though in a more modest manner so as not to draw attention to yourself. 

Your stomach also appreciates the slowed pace. 

He puts his hand on your shoulder at some point while he's speaking, though, and you're forced to stop entirely. All eyes are on you. 

He keeps talking, but the attention is no longer on him. 

You sit properly for a second and hope you haven't made too much of a fool of yourself.

That's a hilarious notion.

Once he sits down, you return your attention to the cakes. You don't notice the scraping of chairs or the dwindling chatter. You don't notice as everyone leaves. You don't notice as the heir tells the staff to hold off on the cleanup until you're done. 

He speaks to quite a lot of the staff while you continue to, now more slowly, work on seeing just how much of this cake you can cram down your gullet.

Eventually, you're left alone with him. 

"So, Karkat," he says.

You recognize your name immediately, even if it is mangled by his human tongue. 

He leans back. He folds his arms. He tries to look casual. 

Does he really think you two can hold a conversation?

You turn your attention away from the sweets, now only somewhat begrudgingly. The balance is shifting to the point where your incredible overfullness is starting to heavily outweigh the deliciousness of the cake.

You let out a burp and it only helps a bit.

You lean back in your seat. 

"Yes," you say. 

He smiles, but he looks somewhat concerned. 

"I was listening if you'd someday stop," he says, his accent only slightly less terrible than everyone else's.

"Listening?" you repeat, confused. 

"Um..." He looks away, embarrassed. "Perhaps, anticipating?"

You have to laugh at him. You can't stop yourself. 

"Your alternian sucks. You sound like a sopping moron," you say. 

Then you catch yourself and remember that this man is very important and that you're supposed to make a good impression.

"I mean, um..."

That's completely down the drain. That's not even in the realm of possibility anymore, actually, you realize as you rest your hands on your bloated stomach. 

The buttons of your shirt are sorely abused and you can see grey flesh where they have been put under too much tension. 

The horrible discomfort you've put yourself in is making itself more and more apparent. It really does ache. But Gods, that cake is just too good. You could still really go for a bit more...

"I mean, your alternian isn't great yet," you correct. 

He's staring at your belly. You can't exactly pretend like it isn't overly apparent. A rather threatening gurgle rumbles up from your overstuffed stomach. You groan and rub at the tense curve in an attempt to calm it down. You've never done anything like this to yourself before. 

"Do you desire to go um... lay?" he asks. He sounds worried.

"What?" Between the accent and the bad understanding of the language... "You mean, lie down? Or like... like... Are- You're not asking for some kind of...."

Intimacy. Pailing. Lay down with you. 

"Yes, Yes," he says. "Lie down. Um... Rest."

Oh. 

"That'd be nice," you say, nodding. "Yeah. Please. Can I just go sleep for the rest of the century?"

He laughs lightly. 

"I will bring you to your block," he says.

He stands up.

"You may name me as John, also," he says, casually.

"Zean?" you try to repeat.

"Y-yes. That will work."

He takes you upstairs, though you don't want to walk at all. You're too full to move. It's excruciating to get up there, but once you do, you're thankful.

There are no recouprecoons, which you'd already been informed of. It's going to take a lot of getting used to.

In all honesty, you're probably not going to get used to it.

You try not to think about that right now.

You lie down on the bed and its comfortable enough to relax on. You don't know if you'll ever get to sleep, though. 

And you really need to sleep this meal off.

You sink into the blankets and pillows. You undo the buttons on your pants and the lower part of your shirt, releasing some tension from your stomach. It's still making some very unpleasant and unhappy noises.

You close your eyes and try to relax. You feel a hand on your belly soon after, though, and you crack an eyelid. 

John's hand rubs over the firm curve of your stomach soothingly. You let out a relieved sigh and close your eyes again. It feels quite nice.

Your stomach finally calms after a while, and the tightness softens. 

You wonder if you could eat more cake now.

You make sure not to open your eyes so as not to think about how bloated your stomach has gotten, which of course would ruin the idea. 

"Is there any cake left?" you ask him. 

His hand ceases making slow circles on your belly for a moment.

"Um, yes," he says eventually, slowly. 

"Can... Can I have what's left?" you ask. 

He doesn't say anything for a moment. 

"You can eat more, is true question," he says.

You clasps your hands above your head and stretch until your knuckles bump the headboard. 

"Always," you say. 

The heir laughs softly. "I will tell servants to bring more. Just do not be getting hurt."

Someone does come shortly after he calls for them and you have to glare at them to get their eyes of your stomach. You really couldn't give less of a shit, though. You just want this cake.

And what's remaining is put on a plate and left on the bedside table. You get to work quickly. John watches you eat with apparent fascination. 

You eat and try to do so slowly, but it's just so delicious. There isn't much left, though. The rest was apparently thrown out. You can't believe that they can actually afford to throw food out. You can't believe that they can afford to throw THIS food out.

You eat carefully, savoring it. When it's more than half gone, you're pretty sure that you can't or at least shouldn't try to shove anything more into your protesting stomach. It would be quite a challenge, and so you take it that way. You just want to finish it, for the sake of it. You wouldn't be able to stand for this cake to go to waste. 

So you just get yourself to eat the last of it, and it's delicious until the end. 

You let yourself fall back into the bed. John is looking quite amazed. Your stomach is looking terribly overfull. You rub your swollen belly with both hands. It is incredibly unhappy, but you can't say it wasn't worth it. 

John's amazement turns to concern and he places one of his soft, squishy hands on your stomach. He gently tries to soothe you as an ominous noise rumbles up from your belly. You groan. 

"I'm going to get really fat if I stay here," you say. You didn't mean to sound as miserable as that came out.

John chuckles and turns his gaze toward your face. He glances away once or twice, but overall seems to be looking at you contemplatively. His eyes are so incredibly, incredibly blue. It's usually such an intimidating feeling color, but it's starting to feel safe here, almost comforting. 

"What?" you ask when you feel like he's staring. 

He looks away, looking flustered. 

"I, uh, um..." He runs one hand through his hair while the other keeps rubbing nice circles into your abdomen. 

Your eyebrows scrunch up in confusion. 

"It is no thing." 

He bites his lip and looks away from you. There is a long moment of silence, though it is perfectly contented, where he just keeps rubbing your belly. It's starting to hurt a little less, now. But, really, it's so incredibly swollen. You don't know how you even managed this. It's absolutely huge.

He keeps glancing at you.

"You would... be unhappy if I kiss you?"

"What?"

He bites his lips again.

"Could I kiss you?"

You don't even know how to respond to that question. It seems so awkward, but never ever in your life have you been asked something like that. You never thought you would be asked something like that, especially not while you were bloated to the bursting point. 

"O...Okay..."

He leans in cautiously and your heart beats with anticipation and he kisses you very lightly and unsurely on the lips. Just that tiny little touch sends all kinds of lightning shooting through your heart and mind, though. Your insides seem to flutter.

He doesn't pull away from your face afterward. You think you should, react to that, or respond, or reciprocate. You suddenly realize that you have no idea how any kind of intimate reactions work outside of fiction. 

You think you should put your hands in his hair, so you do. It's soft and silky to the touch, like the kind of fuzz on wigglers. You don't know how kissing works at all, but you press your lips into his a little harder this time. Then you pull away.

He kisses you again and you try to 'kiss him back' and you are soon in a terrible mess of tongues and teeth that don't know how to fit themselves together. You combine what feels good with what you think is supposed to feel good and what you've seen in movies and it all melts into something horribly inelegant. Eventually you both pull away from each other, not sure what you've done. His lip is bleeding a tiny bit. You'll have to remember to be more gentle next time. (The prospect of a next time is slightly daunting)  
You've been told that all humans have candy red blood, but it's such a shock to see it right in front of you. He wipes it away quickly. 

He laughs awkwardly and so do you.

Then he lies down next to you and keeps his hand on your belly, still trying to get it to stop hurting and making such terrible noises. You pass out almost immediately afterward.


End file.
